


Senpai

by terajk



Category: Shikabane Hime | Corpse Princess
Genre: Chromatic Character, Chromatic Source, F/F, Guro, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terajk/pseuds/terajk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You miss it, don't you? Hunting shikabane?" For the prompt: "Makina/Itsuki, gunplay"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senpai

“Riko will kill you,” Makina says. “With your own gun.”

Itsuki sucks her popsicle--blue raspberry, her favorite--and watches the children enjoy theirs. “Kids should have fun,” she says. Then, “I guess you don’t want the monaka in my purse.”

“You’re not funny.” Makina speaks more sharply than she means to, partly because she _does_ want the monaka in Itsuki’s purse. “Riko doesn’t have to let us stay here--I don’t know why she does. But you don’t care. You just take the kids to the movies and go to concerts and put posters on your walls like you’re--”

“Alive?” Itsuki smiles. She always smiles, as if she knows more than Makina does. It gets annoying. It’s also annoying when she stops talking to focus on her popsicle, as if their conversation isn’t very important. Then she pulls a small paper bag out of her purse, hands it over. “You miss it, don’t you? Hunting shikabane?”

“I don’t feel anything about it. I’m a weapon. A gun doesn’t think about being a gun.” Makina realizes what tense she’s spoken in.

Itsuki does, too. “So hunt shikabane then,” she says. Even around her popsicle stick, her lips curl.

                        ***

“Take my gun,” Itsuki says. “There’ll be less mess that way.” She’s standing in bra and panties in the middle of the room. Makina asks what the hell she thinks she’s doing.

“I’m not getting blood on my school uniform,”  is all she says.

In response, Makina starts another round of This is the Worst Idea Anyone Has Ever Had. Riko and the children will be back soon; they’re _praying for Keisei at the shrine,_ for Heaven’s sake.

“And going to lunch afterwards.” Itsuki steps out of her underwear.

“You want to do this without Takamasa?” asks Makina.

“You want him to watch?” Itsuki asks beneath her bra.

“No!” Makina stops looking Itsuki’s pistol over. She’s frightened by how natural holding it feels, even after all this time, even though it’s not hers. “I just mean, are you sure you don’t want any....protection?”

“I haven’t been injured in a long time,” Itsuki says. “I miss it. I’ll be fine, unless you’re planning on aiming for my brain.”

 _This is the worst idea in the world,_ Makina thinks, even as she walks over to where Itsuki’s standing and touches the pistol’s barrel to her jaw.

“Shoot it,” Itsuki says. “It’ll be warm then.”

All Makina can think to say is, “Where?” Itsuki takes her hand, aims the barrel at her own breast, and smiles.

It isn’t long before Itsuki’s laying on the floor, spread-eagle, arms above her head. The ragged maw of her wound yawns rather than screams--she has no heart to bail blood out of it. Gingerly, Makina lays the gun in the valley where Itsuki’s neck meets her shoulder. She still remembers the spasm when she pulled the trigger, one not at all like the little shutters of her own machine guns.  Under the steel, Itsuki’s skin is soft and pliable, as if she is--they are--human, after all. Makina traces the barrel around the curve of Itsuki’s breast, down her stomach, along the insides of her thighs, and Itsuki is...patient, like she’s waiting for Makina to figure out what she wants on her own.

She gets tired of waiting, apparently. “Put it in me,” she says. Makina moves toward her pubic hair, but Itsuki says, “No.” Then she breathes sharply and the hole in her chest shudders.

“I can’t,” Makina says.

“Do it.” It’s the most commanding Itsuki’s been today.

The first thing Makina thinks of, rooting around inside Itsuki’s chest, is a xylophone. She wonders what notes Itsuki’s ribs would play if she struck them, and then wonders what the hell she’s thinking. Itsuki thrusts into the gun-barrel, into Makina’s hand, again and again. The only noise she makes is a soft coo. Soon Makina follows Itsuki’s thrusts with her own (“Are you my senpai?” she had asked once). She hasn’t felt this connected with someone since....Keisei. Yes, Keisei. When Itsuki stops thrusting, she says, “Put it in my mouth now. And hold the trigger.”

“I won’t.”

“What kind of shikabane hunter are you?” There’s no anger or sarcasm--just the smile in her voice.

It’s the smile--that annoying, wonderful smile, that wins Makina over. “A good one,” she says. Then Itsuki is sucking on her M45, licking the hot steel and the blood, and Makina holds the trigger because Itsuki trusts her not to squeeze, even as her eyes dare her to: a shikabane and Ouri, Keisei, all at once. Makina _had_ needed this. Itsuki is her senpai after all.


End file.
